


The Right Dance Partner

by PandoraButler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man: Homecoming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:08:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler





	The Right Dance Partner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sampika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sampika/gifts).



_Big man in a suit of armor, take that away and what are you?_

The question had been plaguing the mind of Tony Stark for sometime now. Sure, at the moment he had answered the only way he knew how, with snark, but inside he was whirling with alternative answers. The truth of the matter was: he wasn't anything without the suit. Without the suit he was a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist. In short: the most empty man alive. He was no better than a walking shell. He didn't deserve the money, fame, or even the occasional 'thank you.' He didn't deserve to be a hero. Most importantly, he didn't deserve Pepper Potts. The only thing he truly deserves: is hell. 

Everything about him was a facade, a mask, a persona that he built to protect himself from  _feeling_. For, if you feel, even the slightest bit of emotions, that makes the betrayal all that much harder to handle, to erase. It hurt him with Obadiah, and later, with Steve Rogers. He deserved it. It was karma. That's what he told himself. It was because he had built weapons for war. It was because he had slept will all those women, drank all that liquor, denied all those charities. It was because, deep down, he was Tony Stark and that was his biggest sin. 

No matter what he did he couldn't change that. He couldn't stop being Tony Stark. When he had created the suit, or rather when he had created Iron Man, people could no longer see his face. His mask was hidden behind another mask and he could fix all of his wrongs. He could make it all  _okay_. He could save people. He could have purpose outside of his father's company. It brought him safety. 

Until, that is, the NYC incident. The Avengers Initiative. The wormhole to another dimension. He thought he was going to die; that he might have failed. He lived the scene over and over and over again. What could he have done better? What if he hadn't made it? What if he did die? Would anyone mourn him? 

The only solution he could come up with is this: that he should've died. With him around no one is safe. Not Pepper. Not himself. Not even the world. He was worthless. Even when he tried to help people, he only made things worse. Tony Stark was cursed. Every choice he made was the wrong one. That was what he had accepted. 

_I was just trying to be like you..._

_I need you to do better._ Because no one should be him. He's not worth it. He isn't even a good man. Please. Do better. The world only needs one Tony Stark. The world cannot handle two screw-ups.  _I'm going to need the suit back._

 _But I'm nothing without the suit._ It was then that Tony understood, this kid, this Peter Parker was following in his footsteps. That's not good enough. That's not going to end well. He needs to stop it before it turns into something miserable. He needs to end this before this kid does something that he will regret; before he is reckless and dies. What if he makes a bigger mistake than Tony's Ultron? Or the Accords? It needs to end here; it must. 

So he took the suit. He should've known taking it wouldn't have stopped him. He should've tried harder. He should've said different words. As long as Peter is going to continue, he might as well bring him into The Avengers. You could not have imagined the relief that flooded through him when Peter walked out those doors; when Peter refused. Good. He wouldn't be in harm's way anymore. He could be the 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.' That's better. That's much better. 

But now Tony Stark was alone again.

There was no one for him to put his energy into. He had to turn all those reporters away. Pepper had figured out something other than an engagement as an excuse. It was official. Tony was alone. Tony being alone was never a good thing. However, that was always how he ended up in the end. Drinking in his own personal room. He couldn't live in a mansion alone so he moved in with The Avengers. He lived with everyone here. His room was in the basement of the building. It was too big to be even categorized as a 'room' but he didn't care. This was his place. No one was allowed here. Not even Vision, who could go through walls. He wasn't alone but he was at the same time. Funny, how life works that way.

He sat there, in his 'room,' drinking himself silly. Why the hell not? He might as well. At least this once. But this once had turned into a week's worth of 'onces.' He drank himself till he blacked-out. Seven days now. How many more to come? 

Tony Stark didn't hear it when the door opened. He didn't notice when the footsteps echoed off the floor. He only noticed when they lowered the volume of his deafening music. Tony turned and gripped his bottle tighter. He used it to point at the stranger. Well, it wasn't a stranger. It was Steve Rogers. It was Captain America himself. Tony blinked. No. It couldn't be. That's stupid. He  _must_  be drunk. Cap was gone. Had to be. Why would he risk coming here? Just to see him? That's the silliest thing Tony has ever heard! So he laughed. He held his hand to his face, rubbed his eyes, and let out a couple of laughs. 

"Good to see you, Cap, how you been?" Tony's words slurred as he tried to focus his eyes. He attempted to take a step forward but tripped over his own feet. He caught himself, of course, but the point still remained: he was incredibly drunk.

"I'll tell ya how I've been," Tony pointed the bottle at Steve again, "I've been shitty. Yep. That's the truth there. Did I tell ya that Pepper's gone? She is still doin' her job but, well, that ain't the point is it? Of course I didn't tell ya! You were off helping yer war buddy. Why would I tell ya anything? We aren't friends. We aren't even allies anymore. Shit. Of all the people to hallucinate. Why'd it gotta be you?" Tony rubbed his eyes again and squinted. Steve was still there. Why him? He practically hated the guy! They couldn't be more wrong for each other. They weren't compatible in any way.

"Tony, they called me here. All of them. They said you had been like this for a week now. They're worried about you. Why are you doing this to yourself?" 

"Ha, that's a good laugh. There ain't nobody worried about me," Tony let out a few dry laughs before his standard smirk turned into a line. His eyes lost the slight glimmer they had left. "No one has been worried about me for a long time now. That's how it should be. That's how it is."

"You're wrong. They called me here  _precisely_  because they  _were_  worried and they didn't know what to do themselves."

"Well, why are you here then? You're the last person who would want to comfort me!" Tony snapped and he slammed the bottle he was holding into the ground. He was mad at himself for making Steve his conscience. Of all the people it could've been, why him? There was only one answer he could think of was: Rogers was the only one who'd tell it to him how it is. Rogers was the only one who'd be  _completely_  honest. That was his best, and worst, quality.

Tony took a few deep breaths and calmed down. He clutched his shirt and felt where the arc reactor was supposed to be. It wasn't there. It hadn't been there for a while. Why'd he get rid of the one reminder he had? The one thing that could've killed him at any time? He'd made the wrong choice. He shouldn't have removed it. He'd almost died so many times up until this point. Why hadn't he died? Why was he being cursed with living this kind of life? What was the point in it? 

"The arc reactor," Tony began. His voice was almost a whisper now, "it kept me alive but it also killed me. It reminded me I wasn't a just a human; I was a machine. It's gone. Why is it gone?" he asked the air. He wasn't looking at Steve anymore; he was just looking off into the distance. He's nothing without the suit. No matter what he might try to convince himself. He is nothing but an empty shell. He tried to remove the thing that made him a machine. However, removing the blemish doesn't change reality. That's the sad truth.

Steve opened his mouth to speak but Tony just held up a hand and turned the music up again. He smiled, shrugged it off, and pretended everything was usual. He was still drunk. Steve had still seen the gravity of the situation. It didn't matter. Tony just needed to distract himself and Steve. He held out his hand and grabbed Steve's forcing him closer.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked but followed along regardless.

"Well, big guy, you'll never get a date if you're so stiff. So I'm teaching you how to dance," Tony began, "and before you go off into your Peggy love story just shut it. Okay? You're  _my_  hallucination you can do what I want for one night." Tony wrapped his arms around Steve and started his mini lesson. He grimaced each time Steve stepped on his toes but he just laughed it off. Steve was a terrible dancer! He moved like an old man. Well, he  _was_  an old man. What did it matter? For right now, Steve belonged to him. He didn't care if this was real or fake. Tony was feeling better. That's what he should be happy about, right? So what if Steve wasn't here! So what if he was! 

"You're getting better at this," Tony noticed.

"I had a good teacher," Steve replied. 

The next song was a slower one. Tony had forgotten it was even on this playlist. He had forgotten it even  _existed_. This was one of his dad's favorite songs. This was one Steve could recognize. 

"We, uh, can stop dancing now. You can even disappear if you want. I'm fine. I've always been fine. I can take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter," Tony attempted to push Steve away. He was frustrated his mind was even seeing things still. How long was he supposed to see Steve here? It wasn't fair. 

Steve didn't allow Tony to push him away. He brought Tony closer to him. He took the lead. Tony could only stare back into the eyes gazing at him. This felt a little too real to be an hallucination. He wasn't sure how to respond now. He just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Friday."

"What about Friday?"

"That's the name of my AI, as you know, but it was also the day my father first bragged about you," Tony began. He rolled his eyes at the memory, "and funnily enough, years after, it was the day I decided I would be anything  _but_ you. And, even more hilarious, the first day I met  _you_. Friday is a lot of firsts related to you." He wasn't sure why he was saying this but it seemed fitting for now. Today was also a Friday. This time there was a first for Steve since this was the first time he had danced.

"How do you remember that?" Steve asked. He was honestly impressed.

"I'm a genius, remember?" Tony replied. He wouldn't dare admit that he had marked it all on his calendar. As much as he hated the fact this was true, Captain America had always held a bit of a soft spot in his heart. Tony blamed his father for this. If Howard Stark hadn't known Steve it wouldn't have been this hard to hate him.

Exhaustion hit Tony like a brick to the face. His body was realizing what time it was and  _exactly_  how much alcohol he had consumed. He needed sleep. He didn't dare sleep alone, but, he needed to. Tony could feel his eyelids dropping and he could also feel himself flying. He couldn't fly, so, what was this? Steve was carrying him, of course, to his bed. Strange. Hallucinations don't have that power. This was some mind boggling shit right here. 

Tony fell asleep officially when his head hit the pillow. Morning came quickly for him. There were no dreams that night. It was all just pure  _sleep_. He felt safe somehow. He felt relaxed. He didn't understand why. He woke up with a miserable headache and a strange smell. Tony held his head in his hands and sighed.

"I  _must_  be crazy if I can even  _smell_  his scent on my bed sheets."

Well, of course you can. After all, he wasn't a hallucination in the slightest. 


End file.
